Damian likes to think he’s experienced his fair share of embarrassment this year, but even then, nothing has quite prepared him for this. It’s like the day he came back from his suspension but much worse. This isn’t fear or mistrust or whatever else people looked at him with then. This is... utter shock. And pity probably. So much pity that Damian actually feels insulted. He insulted himself by performing so poorly.
“Um--” The first thing he thinks of is how he’d be scolded if his mother were around. She always tells them to never say ‘um’ or start anything with ‘um’ because it suggests you’re unsure or not confident. And boy is she right because Damian is plenty helpings of both at the moment. “I, well--” Get back into it. Don’t fall apart. Carry on, he instructs himself. “That’s practice for today, team. Good-- um, good efforts. I’m proud.” Lie. A lie he wishes wasn’t so because he should be proud of his team. He shouldn’t be feeling like this but he can’t help it.
Damian can’t exactly recall what he says after that because he’s running on auto-pilot and shame is quick to fill his cheeks, but he excuses himself when he otherwise wouldn’t and he knows his team can tell he’s embarrassed and that makes things even more embarrassing. He retreats to his things on the bench, hoping to dry off and wait around here pretending to jot things down on his chart while everyone else files into the locker rooms to change and shower and likely talk about his terrible execution and how he’s probably an unfit leader now.
He’s rifling through his gym bag for absolutely nothing when he hears someone approach from behind him. “Whatever it is, we’ll touch on it next week, okay?” He doesn’t look behind him. He can’t. “It’s Friday. Please just-- enjoy yourself and carry on back to the dorms.” He does his best to hold himself together but all that’s running through his mind is his mistake, his loss, his humiliation.
